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Bad-ass Bella is always on the defensive and sick of being burned by guys who run out on her after a month. When she’s given a Psychology assignment on the connection between pleasure and pain, she ends up doing research at Sexapalooza, smack in the middle of the BDSM section. She meets Darius, a sexy whip-maker who’s more than willing to give her a practicum on pain. Yet Darius has an unexpected soft side, and his particular method of inflicting pain produces highly unexpected—and highly pleasurable—results. He knows a bit about psychology himself, and he’s determined to convince Bella to let down her guard and let him into her life.

When Bella decides to do a psychology project on the relationship between pleasure and pain, she gets more than she ever bargained for.

Doing research is one thing, but heading off to a BDSM expert in the middle of Sexapalooza is another. Darius is a whole lot more than just than whip-making ex-boyfriend of her room-mate, he is willing to teach her the dynamic that flows underneath the core values of BDSM; trust, communication, safety and the subtle relationship between pleasure and pain.

This story had grit. Bella is no shrinking violet and her behavior is actually quite bitchy. Darius tells her that she can interview him or he can show her what pleasure can be derived from the whip and much, much more. He has the patience of Job, and as the story develops, it blossoms like a rose with razor wire thorns. Bella learns how to let go and embrace who she is and gets a spanking that will put a nice blush on your cheeks. The erotic machinations were a dance of a patient dominant handling an unskilled “sub” for a night and showing her how to take pain and make it pleasurable instead. Bella is a brat that needs to be tamed and Darius is just the man for the job. I just wish we had a little longer to be in the story as it was getting to a nice fever pace when it ended.

One of the things that this story illustrated rather well were some of the misconceptions about whips and floggers and how they can be used for pleasure and pain. Bella thinks she can just ask Darius a few questions without experiencing anything first hand, but that is not the way to really learn about how endorphins work, nor how the trust and communication elements in BDSM have to go hand in hand with anything happening in a scene. Instead of a dry paper, Bella will experience something that will rock her world and reform her very foundations.

If you enjoy a good spanking story, then let this one warm you up tonight.

Reviewed by: Erzabet

The Whip-maker

The Whip-maker is Fabulous! Annabelle needs to write a paper for one of her college classes on the pleasure from pain. While not understanding it she meets a friend’s ex-boyfriend for help. Darius is a whip maker and someone that can help Bella with her paper. To do that he has to get Bella to let her guard down to get the full experience.

Bella has a tough outer shell. She does not let anyone in. In the beginning of the story, Bella is aggravating. She has an attitude about everything around her, and not a good one. Darius is a whip-maker. He has the ability to calm Bella like no one else and crack that tough outer shell she has.

I wish we could see what happens between Darius and Bella. There was so much chemistry between the two characters. Darius was not put out by Bella’s behavior. I wish the story was much longer. Overall, this was a fabulous story at 35 pages.

Book Blurb for The Whip-maker

Bad-ass Bella is always on the defensive and sick of being burned by guys who run out on her after a month. When she’s given a Psychology assignment on the connection between pleasure and pain, she ends up doing research at Sexapalooza, smack in the middle of the BDSM section. She meets Darius, a sexy whip-maker who’s more than willing to give her a practicum on pain. Yet Darius has an unexpected soft side, and his particular method of inflicting pain produces highly unexpected—and highly pleasurable—results. He knows a bit about psychology himself, and he’s determined to convince Bella to let down her guard and let him into her life.

Night Owl ReviewsMar, 20134.50

Story Excerpt

What a place to do research for a Psych paper. I hooked my thumbs into the pockets of my army camouflage pants and glanced at the huge black and red banner over my head: Welcome to Sextravaganza, your consumer sex show. Yeah, not exactly my number one place to spend the afternoon, especially since I managed to wander smack into the middle of the bondage section. Up ahead, I heard a woman advertise the benefits of the bondage bed, where you could immobilize your partner in all kinds of kinky positions. What the hell did a bondage bed look like, anyway? Did it come with its own rope and an assortment of D-rings?

I didn’t really want to know, so I hung a left down another aisle, coming face to face with a display of books about something called shibari, which was…let’s see…Japanese rope bondage. I picked up a hardcover issue and leafed through it. The models were tied with thick rope that formed complicated geometrical patterns over their bodies. I didn’t know whether I should appreciate shibari as a form of artistic expression or be disturbed at the sight of all these bound women. Flipping through a few more pages, I tried to make up my mind. The images had a haunting, sensual quality. Some of the rope patterns were exquisite. Okay, I decided, returning the book to its shelf, shibari was art.

Sighing, I readjusted my backpack over my shoulder, pulled the brim of my baseball cap lower over my eyes and scanned the crowd. People seemed pretty normal, a lot of couples strolling hand-in-hand, groups of men in their early twenties, and even a few white-haired ladies with their husbands. Before coming here, I pictured something totally different, like nymphomaniacs on the loose, women strutting around half-naked, and guys coming on to me left and right.

Not that I’d mind if guys came on to me. Sometimes it was fun to turn men down. It gave me a rush of power to grind a man’s ego under my boot. Yeah, I was a little bitter at the moment. A bad boyfriend led to a bad breakup, which led to a bad attitude. My life sucked big-time and I had three days left to hand in a five thousand word paper on the connection between the sensations of pain and pleasure. I had a title, “The Paradox of Pain,” and…absolutely nothing else. I didn’t even have an idea to start with, much less a full-fledged thesis to expand on. But I had questions, a whole lotta questions, and I planned to get some answers from my roommate’s ex-boyfriend.

Daphne dated Darius for a few months and when things got too intense, she broke up with him. What she meant by too intense, I had no idea. They were still friends, though. She said he’d be the perfect go-to guy for info about pleasure-pain dynamics, and I’d find him at “The Whipping Booth.” At first I didn’t get it until she explained what Darius made in his spare time. Whips, she said. Darius is a whip-maker. It took a while for her comment to sink in. Most men spent time in their garages tinkering with car engines, or they cruised down the highways on their motorcycles, or they went camping on the weekend. But Daphne dated a guy who had a passion for whips. I guess the only thing crazier than him making whips was the idea that people actually bought them.

Finally, after strolling past sexy latex cat suits, handcuffs with fluffy pink lining, and a stunning array of leather collars—some with wicked-looking spikes—I found a kiosk called “The Whipping Booth.” There was the man I was looking for. The whip-maker stood in front of a glass display case, feet apart like a soldier on guard, a long glossy ponytail down his back. Man, I wish my hair looked half as good. Of course my hair was cropped short, but I’d love to have the same silky-soft shine. This guy could star in his very own hair care commercial. I’d have to ask him what conditioner he used.

Damn, he must practically live at the gym to have those killer biceps. His cut-off T-shirt revealed well-defined muscle and tanned skin. He could sweep me off my feet, all one hundred and fifteen pounds of me, and do multiple sets of curls. And his chest? To die for. The T-shirt’s stretchy fabric hinted at powerful pecs and ripped abs. Sexy dark stubble covered his cheeks and his lips were full and firm, the kind of lips a girl wanted to kiss. Fuck, was I getting the hots for my best friend’s ex? No, never, not for a guy who believed sex and pain were a perfectly matched pair, like peanut butter and jam or popcorn and melted butter. Darius makes whips, remember? Stay away from him, Annabelle.